Second Opinion
Page 27
***
“Dad?” Beau’s voice rang through the line, taut with excitement. “There’s something strange about the bright white flecks on the x-ray films in some of these patient charts you gave me to look at.”
Grant glanced at a nurse rushing past him, heard the complaints all the way from the waiting room, felt the anxiety that seemed to affect everyone in the ER. “Can this wait? Things are really hopping right now, and—”
“It’s important.”
Grant suppressed his frustration. “Those flecks on the films are artifacts from the ancient machine they need to replace in Radiology.”
“Are you sure?”
“They’re just superficial scratches. Film processor defects. I hear the x-ray techs complaining about it all the time.”
“This is different.”
“I don’t have time to argue with you.”
“Then listen to this. I checked the addresses of those patients. Almost all of them are located in the same area of town. The same area, Dad. Doesn’t that seem weird?”
Grant frowned. “How did you find that out?”
“I used the map Brooke grabbed from City Hall the day we had to drag her out of there.”
“Oh yeah.”
“Right. Remember the day we went fishing with Lauren and she told us Honey Creek supplied about a third of the town’s water? But it was only a certain section.”
“Are you talking about some kind of water contamination?”
“Maybe. I need to make some calls and see if it fits but I don’t think the waterworks supervisor and the town mayor will listen to a sixteen-year-old kid.”
“They will if you tell them you’re calling on my behalf. While you’re at it would you find out what the mayor knows about a dump site cleanup above Honey Spring? We had a patient in here the other day who’d been working with a crew from Springfield.”
“Does that mean you’re giving me permission to make those calls?”
“Call whoever you need to and let me know what you find out.” He glanced across the bustling ER. “And hurry.”
Chapter 26
Archer was still in his office having a heart-to-heart with God when the church secretary knocked at the office door and stepped inside without waiting for an answer.
“Archer?”
He looked up in surprise. “What’s wrong?”
“Do you know anything about a werewolf?”
“A what?”
“There’s a little child on the telephone asking to speak to Mr. Archer. He says he’s calling you about the werewolf.”
Archer caught his breath. He’d heard the word the day Levi and Cody were talking to Lauren on the steps of their porch.
He picked up his receiver and punched the button with the blinking light. “Hello? This is Mr. Archer. Levi? Is your mother acting funny?”
“Yes,” came the child’s frightened voice. “She started shaking and she won’t talk to us. She doesn’t have any claws or fur yet but her eyes are white.”
“Okay. Remember what she told you to do when she started doing that?”
“I’m supposed to call somebody.”
“She also told you to go to Mrs. Walker’s house. You remember that?”
“But I don’t want to leave my mom. What if she runs away again and we can’t find her this time?”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can and I’ll take care of her. You take your brother to Mrs. Walker’s house. Do you understand?”
“You’ll come now?”
“I’ll be there in five minutes.” He disconnected, grabbed his car keys from the corner of the desk, and ran out of the office. “Call an ambulance,” he told Mrs. Boucher as he raced through the outer reception area. “Give them Gina’s address.” Maybe the ambulance would beat him there.
***
Lauren awakened to find herself face down in a tangle of vines and last year’s moldy leaves. When she groaned and pushed herself up a jangle of noise rang in her ears with the force of a train whistle. The forest spun around her like a giant blender filled with leaves. The sound obviously came from inside her head. She blinked toward the sky but it looked as if clouds had drawn a blanket over the trees while she was unconscious. Maybe her vision was dimming.
She was too weak and sick to do battle with the twin forces of fear and confusion. She was alone in this place and no one knew where she had gone. Someone had already died from the effects of an illness with the same symptoms that were attacking her. She couldn’t push that memory from her mind.
Now she understood more completely than ever before why the patients who came into the emergency room were so often frightened.
Alone.
“Am I alone?” Her prayer was barely a croak of sound and her arms threatened to give way and plunge her face down into the decomposing leaves once more.
No. He was there. He knew.
But did He want to rescue her from this? Maybe she had complained once too often about her loneliness.
Or maybe this illness was affecting her mind and emotions.
“Lord, help me.” Lauren could barely whisper the words but in her heart she shouted them.
The nausea returned with a vengeance. As darkness once again rimmed her vision, she felt her body slump into the cushion of damp leaves. Her last coherent thought was one comforting memory—Mr. Mourglia and Mr. Rosewitz would be here any time. They always came fishing on Friday afternoon, the barber and his elderly buddy, the ones who had first told her about this place. They would be here before sunset, when the fish were hungry and the air was just right…
***
Archer screeched his tires against the curb in front of Gina’s house, parked the car, and raced past the over-trimmed hedges. The front door was unlocked and he barely slowed his steps as he plunged inside. The sobs of a child permeated the air.
“Levi?” Archer called.
A tiny form came racing through the doorway from the kitchen. “Help her Mr. Archer! Help her!” He grabbed Archer’s hand and tugged. “Hurry!”
Archer swung the child up into his arms and ran with him to the threshold of the kitchen, where the horrifying sight of Gina in full, arching seizure held Cody wide-eyed and gasping in the far corner of the room. Gina’s eyes were rolled back in their sockets, her face grimaced, and her legs and arms flew in wild abandon.
“Take Cody to your neighbor’s house.” Archer placed the child on his feet. “I’ll take care of her now.”
“How?”
“I’ve already called an ambulance and they should be here any minute. Levi, go now.”
“But Mama needs us!”
For a few precious moments Gina’s movements grew still. Her arms flopped to her sides and her head fell sideways. The only sound was the continued gasping sobs from Cody.
Archer knelt beside Gina and placed a hand on her arm.
She didn’t react.
“Gina?”
She didn’t move except to breathe. At least she was still breathing.
“Levi,” Archer used his most authoritative voice, “your mother wants you and Cody to go to your neighbor’s house now.”
With great reluctance, Levi walked over to his little brother, who continued to shake with spasms of soundless sobs. Levi took the younger child by the arm and led him from the room. They were stepping through the doorway when Archer felt Gina’s arm tense. Her face tightened.
Levi turned and looked back at her.
“Go now,” Archer said.
Levi reached up and grasped the doorknob then pulled the door shut behind them. As soon as the latch clicked, Gina’s arms jerked with a returning seizure. A hoarse moan spiraled from her throat.
Where was that ambulance? He’d given clear directions for Mrs. Boucher to relay to them. What if they’d misunderstood?
He pivoted in search of a telephone and saw one on the wall beside the kitchen entrance. He jerked up the receiver as Gina’s convulsions intensified.
***
“Grant? Archer. Need your help.”
A child screamed from one of the exam rooms, joining the chorus of children who continued to play in the waiting room, still bouncing off of legs and chairs and vending machines.
Grant covered his left ear. “What’s wrong?”
“I think Gina’s having a grand mal seizure.”
After long experience working a busy ER in St. Louis, Grant seldom felt overwhelmed here in Dogwood Springs. Right now he wished he could split into three or four different people. “Where is she?”
“At home. I’m with her now. She’s had more than one.”
“Ambulance?”
“Tried twice but no one’s here yet.”
“We have a rash of emergencies. The ambulances are probably out on calls. We have one coming in now. How long have the seizures lasted?”
“I’m not sure—a few minutes, maybe. She was in the middle of one when I got here but then there was a break. She didn’t regain consciousness. What do I do?” Archer did not sound panicked but the thread of concern intensified in his voice.
“Keep her from hurting herself.” Until Grant was sure what was happening he had to consider Gina’s seizures to be life threatening.
“I put a pillow under her head.”
Grant looked out the window. No ambulance yet.
“Don’t I need to put something in her mouth to keep her from biting her tongue?” Archer asked.
“If the seizure has broken and she’s unconscious, turn her onto her side so her tongue won’t block the air passage when she loses muscle tone. Is there sugar nearby?”
“I don’t know. We’re in the kitchen though. Let me look—”
“Wait—Archer?” It was countdown time. The ambulance could arrive any second. “I might not be able to hold for you. When you find the sugar try to place a little of it under her tongue. Don’t use a spoon because she could bite it and break some teeth. And don’t put your fingers in her mouth.”
“Why sugar?”
“I’m just taking a chance it could be hypoglycemia. Even if this is a new onset of epilepsy the sugar won’t hurt her. It’s an educated guess. Hurry.”
He heard the slap of the receiver hitting the counter and then the rattle of dishes and the slam of cupboard doors. The sounds from the phone mingled with the sounds in the ER.
Grant turned to the ER secretary. “Where are the first responders in this town?”
“Probably out on calls,” she said. “Things are going nuts.”
The call reached them and the ambulance came racing around a corner and into the bay, lights flashing.
“Archer?” Grant called. “Hello?”
No answer.
He had to disconnect. As nurses ran out to meet the ambulance attendants Grant hung up the phone and followed. Archer was on his own.
***
Archer found a canister of white stuff at the far end of the kitchen counter. While the sound of Gina’s jerking motions seem to bounce from the flat planes of counters and doors, he plunged his hand into the canister. It felt like sugar. He brought a handful out and touched his tongue to it. Salt.
He shoved that container aside, dusted his hands, pulled the next container toward him and was removing the lid when he realized the movements had stopped. He pivoted toward Gina. Her head lolled to the side and the spasms in her arms and legs had gentled and grown slower. The tight grimace released and her mouth fell open.
Archer grabbed the receiver from the counter. “Grant, her seizure’s—”
The dial tone mocked him. He was on his own.
Well, not quite.
No. Not at all.
“Lord, I don’t know what’s happening but you do. Give me a double dose of your wisdom and keep me calm.” Archer dropped to his knees beside Gina as he prayed.
Her muscles gradually relaxed. He placed his hands on her left side and logrolled her limp body toward him. Her arms flopped uselessly against him; her legs were heavier and less movable than he’d expected. He had to hold her body on its side with one hand while he adjusted her legs with the other.
Once he had her securely on her side, he bent her legs to stabilize her in that position and then leaned forward until his ear was next to her mouth. He heard breath sounds. He rushed to the counter and jerked the lid from the next container then plunged his hand inside and lifted his fingers to his tongue.
Sugar. This would work. He carried the container to the floor beside her and gently pried her mouth open, taking care not to put his fingers near her teeth. Her tongue presented another problem. Grant had instructed him to place the sugar under her tongue.
This could be done. He grabbed a generous three-fingered pinch of sugar and reached for her slackened jaw then sprinkled the sugar along the side of her tongue.
That accomplished with no observable reaction, he reached for another pinch. Before he could get it to her mouth, however, the movements began again. He tried to give her another dose before her face contracted and her mouth clamped shut but all he managed to do was sprinkle sugar across her face and scatter it on the floor. Her body jerked and her elbow hit the container, knocking it over. Sugar scattered everywhere. She kicked him in the leg and rapped him on the arm with her hand. The contortions returned. The invisible monster once more had her in its grasp.
Archer released her and reached an outspread hand to scrape up a fistful of the sweet medicine, praying under his breath that she wouldn’t inhale what was already in her mouth and choke, praying that what he had already given her would work its way through her system, praying for divine intervention.
“Lord, one breath from you, one thought, is all it would take to heal her.”
He waited, feeling inadequate and useless.
Somewhere in the midst of his prayers the movements stopped. He scrambled to her side, prepared to reposition her when she caught her breath in a sigh. Her eyes fluttered but did not open.
“Gina?”
***
“Pulseless v-tach.” Christy the paramedic pumped her patient’s chest in the time-honored dance of desperation as she gave Grant a rushed report. “We got him back for a few seconds but then he went down again.”
The EMT handed over the bagging to the respiratory therapist on the code team. The elderly man had monitor leads across his bare chest. His skin nearly matched the bed sheet. An IV had been established in his left forearm.
“How long since your last shock?”
“About two minutes.”
“We need to shock again now.”
Everyone cleared as the hum of the charge reached maximum. Grant pushed the defibrillator button and the older man’s body arched and fell back.
“Nothing,” Christy said.
“Continue CPR,” Grant told the nurse and gave additional orders.
In the room they switched from the paramedic’s defibrillator unit to the hospital’s when they transferred him from gurney to bed.
“What happened?” Grant asked.
“He went into respiratory arrest almost as soon as we arrived at his house,” Christy said. “His friend Mr. Rosewitz drove by his house to see about him when he didn’t show up at their usual rendezvous at City Hall for their fishing date.”
“That’s where we were supposed to meet.” A man probably in his late sixties had followed them inside, his pale face anxious, his hands wringing as if a film of lotion covered them. He must be Mr. Rosewitz. The man stepped to a corner, keeping careful watch.
Grant realized he knew the patient. Ernest Mourglia loved to work the community puzzle at City Hall. He was the mayor’s uncle.
“When did you find him like this?” Grant asked Mr. Rosewitz.
“Couldn’t have been more than fifteen, maybe twenty minutes ago.”
“Has he complained about chest pain before this? Do you know if he’
s been feeling ill lately?”
“He was kind of sick when I talked with him yesterday.” Mr. Rosewitz inched into the room as if afraid to get too close. “He said he’d rather go fishing and be miserable than stay home and be miserable. He wanted to keep his mind off his stomach. If it helps, he told me he had a bad taste in his mouth. He said it tasted like he was sucking on a penny.”
Some zephyr of awareness stirred Grant’s memory. A metallic taste in the mouth.
They shocked Mr. Mourglia again. The monitor’s death march remained unchanged.
Less than a minute later they shocked again. The monitor beeped then began a steady rhythm across the screen. There was a collective sigh of relief.
Grant pressed his fingers against Mourglia’s neck. There was a pulse. Yes!
“BP?” he asked.
“It’s 85 over 60 and climbing,” Eugene replied.
Grant stepped closer to the patient’s friend. “Mr. Rosewitz, do you go to City Hall very often?”
“Just to meet Ernest.” The man gave his friend a frowning glance. “Is he going to be okay?”
“We need to run some tests and find out how his heart is doing. Do you know if he’s had heart problems in the past?”
“I’ve seen him turn white and grab his chest, but the stubborn cuss says he’d just as soon die as get all trussed up in a hospital. Couldn’t ever get him into a doctor’s office. If he dies of a heart attack in my barbershop it’ll be bad for business.” Mr. Rosewitz’s voice roughened. He cleared his throat. “Wouldn’t want the old fool to die on me.”
“You’re a barber?”
The man nodded. “Been at it forty years.” His voice wobbled.
On a hunch Grant asked, “Where do you and Mr. Mourglia go fishing?”
Words could not have stated the man’s confusion more clearly than the tilt of his head and the meeting together of his eyebrows. Muriel turned from the patient’s side with a frown on her bulldog face.
Grant wasn’t certain where he was headed with his questions. Still, he had a hunch and he needed to follow it further. He hoped Beau would call back with more information soon.